


Sequins and Spirals

by euphemology



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 2014 Winter Olympics, Alternate Universe - Olympics, Alternate Universe - Skating, Anal Sex, Bisexual Dean, Bisexual Male Character, Candy-loving Gabriel, Denial, Emotional Constipation, Figure Skater!Castiel, Figure Skater!Dean, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Angst, Olympics, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, a little bit of Shipper!Sam, alternate universe - figure skating, did I mention sexual tension?, there will be lots of sex too knowing me, there's a lot of it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-10 10:27:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euphemology/pseuds/euphemology
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester is a world-renowned figure skater who hails from the “good old U.S. of A.” He is well on his way to the 2014 Winter Olympics, but there’s one small problem: so is his arch-rival, Polish skater Castiel Novak. Competition is definitely not going to be easy, but it gets even harder when the two men get assigned to the same room in the Olympic Village.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 3-Turn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ THE FOLLOWING NOTES, THEY ARE VERY IMPORTANT TO ME.
> 
> This story is a fictional adaptation of the 2014 Olympics in Sochi, Russia. Because I have so callously replaced actual Olympic skaters with Dean and Castiel, I just want to begin by giving a quick shoutout to the amazing figure skaters who worked their asses off to get to this year’s Olympics. Jeremy Abbott and Jason Brown are the exceptional skaters that made it to Sochi to represent the United States in the men’s singles. Look them up. You won’t regret it. Poland did not place at Worlds in 2013, so they did not qualify for men’s figure skating as a country. However, Castiel essentially takes the place of Czech skater, Tomáš Verner because of the way the Czech Republic, Poland, Slovakia and Hungary combine their National Championships.
> 
> Dean’s skating style is wholly inspired by Jeremy Abbott’s precise, meticulous and enticing performances. Castiel’s style is partially inspired by Daisuke Takahashi, an inspiring and extravagant skater from Japan. I am not attempting to downplay the amazing feats of artistry that these two men have achieved, so please go look them up. Become their fans. You’ll have no choice once you see how cute they are.
> 
> Finally, I would like to thank the amazing [karadin](http://karadin.tumblr.com), for being an amazing artist and cheerleader, and my wonderful friend [Allie](http://becontentwithoutperfection.tumblr.com) for proofreading and laughing with me as I attempt my first Destiel saga. I love you both so much.
> 
> Without further ado… enjoy.
> 
> Accompaniments, including music and video, for this chapter can be found [here](http://snowprincecas.tumblr.com/tagged/sequins-and-spirals-chapter-1).

 

Dean sighed and shook the tension out of his arms as he walked toward the warm-up area, waving and grinning at the cameras as if he wasn’t completely strung out from competition jitters. These were the _finals._ As in the final free skates of the U.S. Men’s National Figure Skating _Championships_. Now, Dean was no stranger to the Nationals stage, as he was currently vying for his fourth consecutive gold in the event, but this was different. This time, he was skating for a spot on the Olympic figure skating team.

Four years ago, Dean had skated his way into the Vancouver Olympics by completing a _near_ -perfect free skate at Nationals, earning himself a second-place finish, which had been enough to sway the U.S. Figure Skating Association into giving him a spot on the team. Unfortunately, he had totally choked on the Olympic stage, finishing 8th overall. At 24, this was likely his last chance to make the Olympic team and get a spot on the prestigious international podium.

“Ready for your close-up, princess?” A gruff voice said from behind, interrupting Dean’s nervous mental spiral.

“Shut up, Bobby.” Dean responded, shooting a half-grin over his shoulder at his coach.

Dean took his seat on a bench in the kiss and cry, _stupid name for a stupid place_ , adjusting his skates while grinning widely at the cameras surrounding him. His trademark smirk was then plastered on all the screens in the building, commentators muttering away to each other about “ _last chances”_ and “ _did you see that short program?”_  

Dean tuned them out, instead turning to Bobby as he waited for one of his competitors to take the ice.

“So what d’you think so far?”

“Honestly, boy? You could run away with this one. What’re you askin’ me for anyway. We both saw what scores’ve been posted so far while you primped in the locker room.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but realistically, Bobby’s chiding comments always grounded him before a free skate. They helped him remember why he was really there, and why he loved skating. He didn’t need the show or the recognition. And even though those things didn’t really _hurt…_ He was skating for his family. He was skating for Sam, who hadn’t ever felt the drive to complete an axel _himself_ … but never could tear his four-year-old eyes away from the rink as Dean landed jump after jump under their father’s careful instruction. And he was skating for Bobby, who gave up his own life to coach Dean to success. And most of all, he was skating for his parents. To keep their legacy alive. _Landing axels, winning gold…_ Always the family’s sport. 

“Earth to Dean.” Bobby nudged the back of his head. “Check out junior out there.”

Dean perked up, gazing out at the ice as the crowd went wild for a nineteen-year-old skater named Jason Brown. He was on _fire_ , dancing away to an Irish step routine as if there was nothing but air beneath him. He was grinning like mad and doing fancy little split jumps as he passed the judge’s panel, but most of all, he just looked like he was having the time of his life.

“Holy shit.” Dean said, eyes following as the kid finished a final series of rapid spins and stood on the ice, beaming with arms outstretched as plastic rosettes rained down around him.

“You can say that again. Crowd was standin’ before he finished his routine.”

Dean waited, remembering that Jason had skated into 3rd place in the short program with an 87.47.

“182.61 for Jason Brown’s free skate, with a final score of 270.08, putting him in first place.” The announcer’s voice rang through the stadium, the audience still cheering at the top of their lungs.

Dean was happy for the kid. He was definitely a good performer, and he looked so genuine as he hugged his coach in blissful surprise, that Dean couldn’t help but like him a little bit.

“Feel bad for whoever’s skating next.” Dean mumbled, half-relieved to have a buffer between Jason Brown’s crowd-raising performance and his own.

Sure enough, Richard Dornbush, who had been second entering the free skate, fell twice during his performance and finished in 5th place. Dean finished stretching as he waited for the ice to be cleared, glad that the buzzing residue left by Jason had dissipated. The ice was his now.

“You ready, boy?” Bobby said, leaning against the rink barrier.

Dean nodded, shaking his legs out one last time before taking to the ice. Bobby reached across the barrier and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Give ‘em hell.”

Dean winked and skated out to the center, assuming his position as he waited for the first notes of Muse’s “Redemption,” part three of the famed “Exogenesis: Symphony,” to ring through the arena. And, on cue, he was off.

The first few slides of his skates against the ice always felt like floating on a precipice. He would get a feel for the crowd in those moments, the music carrying him across the ice in smooth, gliding motions… dips and peaks. As the music began to intensify, Dean’s body tensed in preparation for his first jump, a quad toe-triple toe loop combination. His most difficult. The music carried him through with ease as he unwound tension into seven consecutive rotations, his landing as smooth as it had been in his short program. After that, it was simple. The music was lighter than ever; a gentle reminder to follow the program, but Dean just skated. He loved this feeling. The buzz of the crowd got louder with every jump he landed, and it strengthened his resolve. He was more in tune with the ice now than ever. There was more choreography in the later part of his routine than he was used to, but for some reason it had always felt right with the music. Dean had no trouble dancing on the ice, using his arms to reach out to the crowd in a desperate plea for attention. His favorites in this routine were always the spins. He sailed through them in a daze, the music ringing in his ears.

As his final jumps approached, Dean felt himself falter just a little bit, the landing to his triple jump combination ending slightly off kilter. It would be unrecognizable to anyone but the judges, and even then would be nothing more than a minor point deduction. Nevertheless, he was thrown off, and he delayed the transition into his final triple jump until he had recovered enough momentum. He took off the ice, spun rapidly in the air, landing perfectly on his right foot. The music’s crescendo wound down as Dean entered a complicated footwork sequence, long strides and dips, finally ending the program with his favorite series of rapid spin transitions. When he finally finished ( _four and a half minutes on the ice was a long fucking time),_ he took a deep breath and heard the crowd erupt in cheers. They _stood_ for him, and threw rosettes at his feet. Dean could feel the flush creep up his neck as he bowed; he didn’t deserve _that_. He smiled at the crowd, bowing and waving one last time before leaving the ice, his body still burning with exhilaration.

“Nice job, boy.” Bobby gave him a one-armed hug before he was being jerked in another direction.

“That was great, Dean.” Sam threw his arms around Dean’s shoulders. “I’m glad I made it in time to see most of your program.”

“Thanks, Sam.” Dean patted his brother’s back before pulling away and flashing a half-smile. Jokingly, he added, “Wait. How much did you see…”

“If you’re askin’ if Sammy saw your little fuckup on that last jump, he didn’t see it… Because the boy is goddamn blind when it comes to watching you skate. Thinks you walk on water.” Bobby said, a smile evident in his tone.

“But, _Bobby_ …” Dean pretended to whine. “I _do_ walk on water.”

Sam started laughing at that and Bobby shoved them both onto a bench to wait for the scores to come in.

“You need a 170.23 to take the gold, Dean. Let’s hope the judges were generous with bonuses for that damn triple combo.” Bobby muttered, arms crossed.

“He’ll be fine.” Sam said, calm as ever.

Dean tapped his foot nervously. Even the times he knew he _had_ skated a perfect program, Dean _hated_ waiting for his scores.

“I did the double toe in the beginning, instead of the triple, just wanted to skate clean…”

Sam cut off Dean’s nervous chatter with a few pats to the shoulder.

“And now, the scores for Dean Winchester. The factored score for his free skate… 174.41.”

Dean was too nervous now to even _attempt_ to remember the number Bobby had said a few moments earlier, so he just nodded, smiling lightly at the cameras while his insides twisted.

“The final score is 274.27, putting Dean Winchester in first place.” The announcer’s voice rang threw the stadium as cheers erupted around him.

Dean stood up in blissful shock as Sam and Bobby took turns hugging his unresponsive body. He finally snapped out of it enough to give Sam a high-five and pull him into a one-armed hug.

“Good job, boy. You earned this one.” Bobby said, giving Dean one more, brief, pat on the back.

Dean couldn’t stop smiling.

 

\---

 

Dean celebrated later that evening by biting into an absolutely _massive_ chicken sandwich, a work of art if he did say so himself, complete with as much mayonnaise as he could sneak past Sam. His brother was the best trainer Dean had ever had, but the guy was a fucking health nut. And, _somehow_ , Sam had convinced Bobby that it was best for Dean to follow a regimented diet. Dean sighed, licking a glob of stray mayonnaise off his finger as he tried to remember the last time he had eaten a piece of pie. When he finished polishing off the sandwich, he reached for the remote… only to have it immediately snatched out of his reach.

"Alright, Dean, let's talk about your biggest competition." Sam stationed his towering form in front of the TV, dangling the remote in his hands like a damn piece of _Dean-bait._  
  
"Whoa whoa whoa. Hang on." Dean held his hands up. "The FSA hasn't even released the _names_ for the men's Olympic team yet."  
  
"Dean." Sam admonished, shooting Dean a classic bitch face.  
  
"So maybe I'm superstitious! So what? I think I'm allowed that luxury this time."  
  
"Fine." Bobby spoke up, arms crossed. "But, boy, the instant they release the names, we are sitting right down and watching the obsessive video that your brother made of the international bests."  
  
"Five guesses who's on it." Dean muttered.  
  
"Oh, give it a rest, Dean. If you know the big players so well, why don't _you_ sit through hours of news and YouTube videos."  
  
Dean threw his hands up in concession and left the room, muttering something about the whole situation not being worth giving up cheeseburgers for.  He didn’t even need to turn around to know that Sam was huffing and rolling his eyes at his managed escape.  Dean rummaged through the refrigerator, trying to find _anything_ without the word “ _seltzer_ ” on it, as he eavesdropped on Sam and Bobby’s hushed conversation.  
  
"He'll get over it." Bobby muttered as he opened up a newspaper. "Boy cares way too much about skating to not take this seriously. He's just acting like a nervous little girl. And what do you expect really? This is our last chance."

“I know, Bobby.” Sam had that lawyer voice going on now, and Dean could imagine him playing with the cuff of his shirt. “I just worry, you know? After last time… and all the pressure Dad used to put on him… I’m worried he thinks he just doesn’t have it in him. I mostly made this video to show him how good _he is_ , in comparison to the field.”

“One baby step at a time, I guess.” Bobby sighed.

Dean ran a hand over his face, taking a deep breath before chugging a, thankfully, fizz-free water. He tried to push thoughts of John out of his head, instead focusing on what Sam had said about his chances this time. He smiled and walked back into the living room to await the FSA’s decision.

 

\---

 

“Alright, Dean. Sit.” Sam ordered a few hours later.

“Come on, man! I just made the Olympic team! Shouldn’t we be celebrating?” Dean threw his hands up, still unable to keep the infectious smile off his face.

“Tell you what, boy. You sit through Sam’s little video and then we can all have a few beers after.”

“Whiskey?” Dean prodded, eyes lighting up. Alcohol had been on Sam’s “No Way” list for about two years now.

Sam glared, but Bobby was already nodding. Dean pumped his fist in the air and plopped down next to Bobby on the couch.

“Okay, so.” Sam hit a button on the remote. “First of all, your teammate, Jason Brown. He doesn’t have a quad so, basically, he’s not going to medal. Even if he skates the way he did today, he still would probably only make top five.” Sam skipped forward a few frames until the screen showed a different skater. “Patrick Chan. He’s from Canada. And he’s good, Dean. He won at Worlds this year. He’s got a weakness though. His axel is pretty much shit. He chickens out on his triples and does doubles in a lot of competitions. If he skates the way he did at Worlds, though, he’s in medal contention. Here, check this out.”

Dean hadn’t been at Worlds this year, he hadn’t competed in enough international events in 2012 to qualify, so he sucked it up and watched the programs attentively. He felt his resolve slipping as Sam moved onto the ninth skater of the night, and when Bobby nudged him ten minutes later, he had to admit he had completely ceased listening to Sam’s speeches.

“Dean, I can tell you haven’t been paying attention.” Sam crossed his arms, still standing next to the TV where a skater named Daisuke Takahashi was spinning like a, very talented, top.

“Can we just finish tomorrow?” Dean rubbed his eyes with his palms. “I honestly don’t know how you sat through all this to even make the video, Sam.”

“There’s just one more.” Sam came and sat next to Dean on the couch. “And this one… well, we need to watch out for him.”

Dean brought his head up from his hands and, for a moment, his eyes met the skater’s on the screen. Blue. Holy _shit_ this guy had really blue eyes. Dean shifted a little in his seat, feeling out of his element.

“Doesn’t the guy know not to look directly in the camera?” Dean gestured vaguely at the screen.

“He’s being _interviewed_ , Dean.” Sam replied with a sigh.

“You’re still not supposed to look at the camera.” Dean muttered.

“I heard the kid doesn’t really like interviews.” Bobby gruffed, finally putting his newspaper down to watch the guy skate.

The _kid_ , whoever he was, was skating to something that sounded vaguely familiar and, _damn,_ he was really impressive. The camera closed in on the guy’s legs as he completed a series of, frankly, _perfect_ spins, and Dean found himself squirming in his seat as his eyes gravitated toward the, _very tight,_ fit of the dude’s pants.

“So, uh, who is this guy?” Dean said, trying to make his voice appear casual as he ripped his eyes away from the screen.

“Castiel Novak.” Sam was still glued to the TV, watching the program with his best “research face.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “And, uh, why haven’t I heard of him before now?”

“I honestly don’t know.” Sam replied, turning to Dean. “I was up researching the guy all night, but he literally appeared out of _nowhere_ about two years ago. We’ve been so busy training that we totally missed him. He’s from Poland. Ugh, Dean, I’m _kicking_ myself for not paying closer attention. The guy is _good._ He’s your biggest competition for sure.”

 

\---

 

Dean lay in bed later that night, mind racing as he tried to sleep. After a few more moments of restless deliberation, he threw his legs over the side of the bed and went to get Sam’s laptop from the kitchen. He quickly typed “Castiel Novak” into the search engine, glancing around nervously as the results loaded.

When Sam made his way into the kitchen the next morning, Dean pretended he had just woken up. He certainly hadn’t stayed up all night watching every video of Novak he could find. 

“So, uh, are we gonna have to fly to Sochi?” Dean asked. Normal conversation did not come easily when your head was still spinning with black hair and blue eyes and glittery tights.

“No, Dean, we’re going to take a cruise ship.” Sam teased. 

_Great._

 

\---

 

"Hey, Sam, lemme listen to your iPod with you. Mine died."  
  
Dean grabbed a headphone from Sam's ear, making him jerk, then shoved it in his own ear.  
  
"Oh come on, man! Really?" Dean threw the earbud from his ear in disgust. "That "Counting Stars" shit again?"  
  
"Says the guy who's been listening to Lana Del Rey on repeat for the past half-hour."  
  
Dean sputtered.  
  
"Oh don't even try to deny it, Dean. Your music's always so loud; the entire airplane could probably tell."  
  
"Whatever. I'm just doing research." Dean frowned, crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat.  
  
"How?" Sam said, pausing his music and turning to Dean. "By obsessing over the _song_ he skates to?"  
  
Dean pretended to ignore his brother, but Sam wasn't waiting for an answer apparently, because he kept right on talking.  
  
"I swear, Dean, if this turns into that weird obsession/rivalry that you had with Victor back in Juniors I don't think I'll be able to handle it."  
  
"Shut up, bitch. S'not like that." Dean muttered.  
  
"Then what is it, exactly? Because you've been in a mood ever since we talked about the major competitors."  
  
"I dunno, Sam. It's just... Europe's like, _obsessed_ with the guy..."  
  
"So?" Sam threw his hands up, exasperated. "America is obsessed with you and Jason Brown... and it's not a popularity contest anyway."  
  
"He dresses weird."  
  
"Oh _god_." Sam rubbed two hands over his face. " _That’s_ what this is about? Your weird homophobia?"  
  
"Quiet, Sam." Dean whispered, glancing around. "I'm not fucking homophobic. I just don't like how everyone assumes all male skaters are gay."  
  
"Dean, no one thinks you're gay. And no one is going to think you're gay because of the way a skater from Poland dresses on the ice! Seriously, Dean, you're acting like a four-year-old. Just... relax. Go to sleep or something. And calm down about Novak."  
  
Dean sat there for a moment, stewing before speaking.  
  
"He was obsessed with _me_."  
  
"What?" Sam sighed, resignedly pulling his headphones out again.  
  
"Victor Henrickson. _He_ was obsessed with _me_. Not the other way around." Dean mumbled, still staring resolutely at the leather back of the seat in front of him.  
  
"Uh, no. I'm pretty sure that went both ways." Sam laughed. "He was like, _constantly_ trying to chase you onto the podium and never cared what place he was in as long as it was in front of you. And you would _never_ shut up about how you 'had to beat Victor.' You 'had to beat him no matter what.'"  
  
Sam was still laughing as he mumbled, "You guys were, like, _twelve_. You were so dumb."  
  
"Says the eight-year-old who wet his pants on the way to that competition."  
  
Sam immediately stopped laughing and grimaced. "Truce."  
  
Dean smirked and leaned against the window, finally closing his eyes to get some sleep.  
  
He ignored the image blue eyes and messy hair that instantly found its way to the forefront of his mind, and just clenched his eyes tighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3-Turn: A one-foot turn with a change of edge that results in a '3' shaped tracing on the ice.
> 
> FSA=Figure Skating Association
> 
> If you are curious about more skating terminology go [here](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glossary_of_figure_skating_terms).
> 
> Every comment=more sex scenes in the published story. *Winks and saunters away*


	2. Arabesque

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean finally arrive in Sochi. After some room readjustments, Dean comes face-to-face with his new roommate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sure that, by now, most of you have heard about some of the problems in Sochi with lodging, water, organization, etc. I will be keeping this story as realistic as possible, so most of the issues will be mentioned. However, the severity, or lack thereof, may differ from reality, for the purpose of this narrative.
> 
> There are no specific accompaniments to this chapter, but the extra media (art, photosets and music) for the story as a whole can be found [here](http://sluttycas.co.vu/tagged/sequins-and-spirals).
> 
> Enjoy!

“Ugh. I swear I could kiss the ground right now.” Dean muttered as he and Sam wandered through the airport terminal.

“Then why don’t you.” Sam muttered, glancing around as they walked.

“What’s got your panties in a twist, Sammy? We’re in Russia!” Dean tried his hand at a Russian accent, but it definitely came out sounding more like Indian. India-Russia. _That’s an interesting concept._

“Dean, you’ve been complaining for the past half hour, _and_ you stole my iPod for the last leg of the trip.”

“You know I hate flying more than veggie burgers. And you could’ve said no.” Dean retorted. “Wow. This airport has some seriously huge windows.”

Sam looked like he was about to say something else, but then his phone rang. He looked at the screen and, for a moment, panic flashed across his face.

“Um, hey I gotta take this. Why don’t you go to the baggage claim and I’ll meet you there.” Sam didn’t wait for an answer and started walking in the opposite direction.

Dean felt very inclined to follow because, well, _suspicious_ , but then his own phone was ringing.

“Hey, Bobby, what’s up?” Dean gave up on tailing Sam and started following the signs that seemed to indicate “baggage claim, this way,” but then again, with Russian pictograms, he could never be sure. “How’s the hotel? This airport is actually pretty nice.”

“Well, let’s just say you should be glad I came early.” Bobby grumbled. “Finally managed to get the damn water situation sorted… s’finally safe to take a shower again. Room’s not terrible; there’re two bedrooms. One’s got two beds, for you and Sam. There’s also a little mini bar with a bunch of vodkas I can’t pronounce, so not all is lost.”

“Yeah. Like you and Sam would let me drink vodka during the Olympics.” Dean scoffed.

“I’m not talkin’ about for you, boy.”

“Good to know you care, Bobby.” Dean joked. “Sam and I just got in… I’m trying to find the baggage claim while Sam is busy being weird. He wandered off to take a call… didn’t tell me who it was. Would you know anything about that?”

“Can’t say I do. I was just callin’ to tell you to be careful with the cab drivers. There’s somethin’ off about them. One I had said hi to me in English, then babbled on in Russian the whole drive, which _definitely_ took longer than it should’ve.”

“You sure that wasn’t just your luck, Bobby?” Dean laughed. “Alright we’ll be careful. See you in a bit.”

Somehow, Dean managed to find the baggage claim as Sam reappeared, looking mildly distressed.

 

\---

 

A few very confusing conversations later, they managed to get themselves in a cab to the hotel. Their cabby didn’t seem as talkative as Bobby’s and Dean watched him for a moment, noting that he was wearing a very absurd pin on his collar, complete with swirls of rainbow. Interesting. Russia was definitely off to a strange start.

“So.” Dean finally said.

Sam started. “What?”

“You gonna tell me who you were on the phone with? Or am I just gonna have to sit here in silence wondering what’s making my baby brother jumpier than a fuckin’ kangaroo.”

Sam looked away and stayed silent.

“Well that’s just gr-“

“Ruby.” Sam muttered.

Dean groaned. “Oh _god._ Tell me you’re not still seeing her.”

“Of course I’m still seeing her, Dean. I _like_ her. And she designs good figure skating costumes! I still don’t understand why you won’t let her design for you. She wants to and she’s always nice to you, says she’ll give us discounts but _no_. You have to be all stubborn about it and just continue to treat her like she’s some kind of hell spawn warmed over.”

“Your words. Not mine.” Dean grumbled. “I just don’t trust her. Anyway, why are you worked up about it. Not like I care if you talk on the phone to the bitch.”

Sam went quiet again, shifting slightly in his seat.

“What.” Dean glared. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“She needs a place to stay.”

“ _Hell_ no.” Dean sliced the air with his hand. “No fucking way, Sammy. She’s not staying with us. Why is she even here? Pamela’s not here and she’s the one who actually _designs_ my fucking clothes.”

“She’s showcasing her stuff at one of the events in the Olympic Village.” Sam turned to face Dean. “And why can’t she stay with us? We’ve got room, and you probably won’t even cross paths with her because we’ll all be so busy.”

“I would cross paths with her if we’re _sharing a bedroom._ ” Dean growled. “You and I are sharing a room, Sammy. There’s two beds. No fucking way am I sleeping in there while you two do… whatever the hell it is you do.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Dean. We’re not going to have _sex_ while you’re sleeping unlike _some_ people have done to me in the past.”

“ _Once,_ Sam. That was _once_ and I didn’t know you were there.” Dean mumbled, crossing his arms. “Tell her to find somewhere else.”

“She’s _tried_ , Dean.” Sam pleaded. “Called every hotel in the area, they’re all booked solid. She’ll never be able to find a place by tonight. It’s _Russia_. We can’t just leave her on her own.”

“Fine. You guys have fun. I’m gonna see if I can get into the Olympic Village.” Dean leaned into the front seat. “Hey, man, can you take me to the Village after we drop this dickhead off?”

“Dean…” Sam sighed, gathering his coat as the cab came to a stop in front of the hotel.

“No way, Sam. I’m not staying with her.” Dean grunted.

“Just… at least come up for now. She won’t be here until later and we have so much to talk about for your training and your schedule…”

“Fine.” Dean hissed and shoved his way out of the cab, slamming the door loudly in his wake.

The cab driver remained silent as a stone while he removed their bags from the trunk and placed them on the ground. Sam paid him and started walking towards the hotel. Dean went to follow, but before he got the chance, the cabbie grabbed his arm. He turned around, startled. The guy proceeded to point to his rainbow pin, _wink_ at Dean, then mutter a heavily accented “good luck,” before getting back in the cab and driving away.

_What. The. Fuck._

“I’m not gay.” Dean mumbled in the elevator, still in shock.

“What?” Sam turned, looking at Dean like he had grown five extra heads. “What the hell are you talking about, Dean? No one said you were gay. I’ve never called you gay in your life.”

“Cab driver.” Dean muttered.

“Wait, _what?_ ” Sam started laughing hysterically.

“Shut up, bitch.”

“No no wait. Seriously? What happened? Did he hit on you or something?” Sam was still grinning like this was the best thing that could have ever happened and Dean glared.

“No. He pointed to his rainbow pin and then _winked_ at me.”

Sam laughed harder. Dean sighed and stormed out of the elevator the instant the doors opened.

“Wait, Dean. Wait!” Sam hurried to catch up. “Dean, calm down. How do you even know that’s what he meant?”

“Seems pretty obvious to me.” Dean knocked on the door to their room, not looking at Sam as he waited for Bobby to let them in.

“Dean, you’re so sensitive about this kind of thing. It doesn’t matter if anyone thinks you’re gay. Just tell them you’re not, or ignore it. I’ve been hit on in bars before, it’s not a big deal.”

“ _You’ve_ been hit on?”

“Yeah, Dean. It doesn’t bother me as much as it bothers you. We don’t walk around with signs over our head proclaiming our sexuality. People try and get with people they find attractive, and if it doesn’t pan out, they move on. You don’t need to have a crisis about it.”

“M’not. I just… isn’t it, like, _illegal_ here anyway?”

“No… If you read the paper you’d know, the government only bans homosexual propaganda in the presence of children.” Sam began. “There’re a few more things in there, but that’s the gist of it. It’s… ridiculous, but… it’s not like we can do much about it.”

“Would you two stop your bitchin’ and get in here before the Russian Federation comes down on our asses.” Bobby grumbled, motioning them inside.

 

\---

 

“Bobby, can you just do something about this Ruby thing?”

Dean was sitting on Bobby’s bed, looking at a to-do list that Sam had apparently made on the plane. Bobby sighed as he poured himself vodka from the fridge. Dean watched longingly as the clear liquid flowed into the glass.

“I can’t do anything about it tonight, boy. We can’t just leave ‘er in the cold. Maybe we can figure something out before the Games start next week.”

“I can’t do it, Bobby. I’ve got so much on my plate right now… the last thing I need is her antagonizing me every minute I’m in the room.”

“You’re bein’ a real spoiled brat about this, Dean.” Bobby glared, putting his glass down and picking up a phone. “I’ll call and see if I can get you into the Olympic Village alright? Don’t get your hopes up.”

Dean watched Bobby leave the room, feeling slightly guilty, but relieved as he turned back to the pad of paper in his hands. He stared at the list, not really absorbing anything, and he caught his mind wandering. He started thinking about competition, wondering if all the skaters were here yet. Maybe he could go down to the practice rink and see… Dean found that his mind suddenly flashed an image of blue eyes and dark hair. _No._ Dean rubbed hard at his eyes, trying to erase the image, but it was no use. Here he was, sitting around wondering about Castiel Novak once again. Dean fidgeted with the pad, doodling little hamburgers with wings on a clean sheet of paper to distract himself. _No use_.

He found himself irrationally angry at the Polish skater for taking over his thoughts so completely and, before he knew it, he was making a list titled “Things I Know About Castiel Novak,” the words surrounded by tiny flying hamburgers.

 _1._ _He’s probably gay as fuck._

Dean hesitated, trying to erase it, then rewrite it… not sure why the idea of Novak being gay bothered him so much. He’d known gay guys in the past, never really made friends with any, but he knew enough that he really shouldn’t judge on appearances alone. Nevertheless, the line remained on the page as he moved to number two.

 _2._ _He’s a dick._

Dean figured he should explain that one better and he thought for a moment before scribbling number three.

_3\. He hates interviews and looks at the cameras like he’d rather eat them than stand in front of them._

Dean sighed, finding that making the list was more cathartic than he had expected. He scribbled the last three with ease.

_4\. He’s really fucking good at triple axels._

_5\. He stares a lot._

_6\. He dresses weird._

Dean ripped the paper out of the notepad, about to crumple it and throw it away, but he changed his mind and pocketed it as Bobby walked back into the room.

“You’re in luck, boy. They had some extra space since some of the snowboarders dropped out.”

“Really? That’s awesome.” Dean jumped up from the bed and started throwing stuff back into his suitcase. “Not the snowboarders leaving of course, just that there’s a room available. D’you know why they dropped out?”

“Dangerous conditions apparently. Shaun White almost broke his ankle in practice runs the other day.”

“Yikes.” Dean raised his eyebrows. “They say when I can move in?”

“Tonight. You got a roommate though. Wouldn’t tell me who because they’re still trying to shuffle everyone around. This whole thing is a disaster so far if you ask me.”

“I don’t care if I have to room with Bigfoot. I’m just glad I can escape the Ruby train that’s gonna hit any minute.”

“She’s a little rough around the edges, but she’s not a bad person, Dean. Sam likes her well enough.”

“She’s hot. I don’t know what else he sees in her.” Dean mumbled as he gathered his bags.

“I’ll meet you over there first thing tomorrow morning, Dean.” Bobby called after him. “Get some rest, recover from your jet lag… we’ve got a lot to do.”

Dean shot him a thumbs-up over his shoulder and walked towards the door, telling Sam to visit him if he could shake Ruby for a few minutes.

“See you later, jerk.” Sam grumbled with a small smile.

“Bitch.”

 

\---

 

Dean grabbed another taxi downstairs, this one thankfully lacking in the rainbow pin department. The ride was uneventful, but not spent arguing with Sam, so Dean had a chance to admire the surroundings. The weather was shockingly mild, not a speck of snow on the ground, but there were white-capped mountains framing the rolling landscape. Dean watched as they faded under a circle of clouds, finding that his eyes were beginning to droop and he really wanted nothing more than to take a nap...

“Oi.” _Well that was a weird thing to say. Why was he saying that while figure skating?_

“Oi!”

Dean jolted awake.

“Oh, I’m, uh, sorry.” Dean rubbed a hand over his face and handed the driver some money, taking his suitcase from the floor and climbing out of the cab.

Dean watched the cab drive away, still in a daze. _What had he been dreaming about?_

Dark hair. Blue eyes. The slide of skates on the ice. Hands… _lips_.

“ _Shit.”_ Dean murmured, looking up at the sky in despair.

After another moment of disquiet, Dean brushed off the dream. _It didn’t mean anything._ Nothing physical happened in the dream… He had only been watching him skate. The body parts that his brain had seemed to, well, _focus_ on… That was just a side effect of how undersexed he was. Dean chuckled, self-deprecating. It had certainly been a while since he’d had the time to get between the sheets with a pretty girl. _Yeah. That’s all it is._

 _“_ I need to get laid.” Dean muttered, looking at the buildings in the Olympic Village with a smirk, hot memories from Vancouver flooding his mind immediately.

Everyone was loose during the Games. All the athletes, who never had time for sex while training, were suddenly on their own, away from their coaches… fit, sexy bodies just raring to go. Dean lived for it. Vancouver had been a madhouse. _Had to stay warm somehow._

Dean walked through the doors of the main lodging building and headed over to the information desk, where a young blonde was fiddling with a computer.

“Hi there.” Dean said, leaning on the counter with what he hoped was his best ‘come hither’ face.

“One moment.” The girl had a pretty thick Russian accent, which Dean had to admit… _hot._

“Окей. I am sorry. How I can help you?” The girl spoke slowly, English obviously new on her tongue.

“I, uh, I’m Dean Winchester.” He winked at her. “Figure skater. I just need my room assignment. And maybe your number?”

The girl looked confused and held up a finger before hurrying into a back office. She reemerged with a much older woman.

“Dean… Winchester?” The other woman asked, her accent much less pronounced. “Yes. I talked to Bobby Singer.”

Dean watched as she dug through an envelope, digging out a key and a few pamphlets.

“Some information and your key.” She handed them to him unceremoniously. “Katz Building, Room 205.”

“Thanks.” Dean winked at the younger girl as he turned to leave, but she just looked confused.

He made his way over to his building, following the map the lady had given him. Considering the horror stories he had heard on the news, the place wasn’t all that bad. There was a small lobby with plush chairs and vending machines, and a television that seemed to be broadcasting practice events. An electronic banner hung on one wall, glowing red letters rotating through updates in various languages.

Dean took the stairs up to the second floor and walked down the hall until he found his room number. Sighing, Dean reached into his pocket to dig for the key. Just as he managed to fish it out, the door swung open.

He dropped the key.

“No. Fucking. Way.” Dean stared at the person in front of him in shock.

“That… greeting. I do not believe it is customary.” The man said, bending to pick up the key Dean had dropped.

Dean watched as the shock of dark hair rose back up to meet him, finding that his breathing was becoming a bit ragged. The man placed the key in Dean’s, still outstretched, hand. Their fingers brushed and Dean actually _did_ stop breathing.

“Are you… alright?”

Dean shook himself out of his daze.

“No way. No way, man. They can’t put us together. We’re both competing in the same event. I’m pretty sure this isn’t allowed. We should-“

“Your name is Dean, right? I am Castiel Novak.” He interrupted, extending his hand.

“I know who you are.” Dean made no move to take the guy’s hand. “And they can’t put us together. No way it’s allowed.”

“I’m pretty sure it must be, seeing as it has happened.” Castiel said with a slight smile. “But if you come in, there is a phone you can use to call the Information Desk.”

Dean hesitated, before walking through the door Castiel held open for him.

Dean hung up the phone a few minutes later, sitting on the bed with his head in his hands.

“So… what did they say?” Castiel asked, sitting down on the other bed.

“Apparently it’s allowed.” Dean grumbled, getting up and walking to the other side of the room. “Listen. You stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours alright?”

Castiel didn’t answer, but when Dean chanced a look behind him, he swore he saw hurt flash across the dark-haired man’s features.

Dean ran a hand over his face as he looked out the window. This _definitely_ wasn’t going to be easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arabesque: A leg position in which the free leg is extended behind the body in a straight line. This is the leg position used for the basic camel spin.
> 
> If you are curious about more skating terminology go [here](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glossary_of_figure_skating_terms).
> 
> Dean's lodging building and number, "Katz 205" was specially chosen as a tribute to the Impala's original license plate: "KAZ 2Y5."
> 
> I'm really interested to know what people think so far, so please leave a comment!  
> (Also, I promise the story will earn it's "explicit" rating soon!)


	3. Catch-Foot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has an interesting first day in the Village. He manages to talk to Castiel and even starts warming up to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry it took so long to get this one up. My dad was being a butt because we're getting ready to go on vacation and I was out running errands all day.
> 
> There are no specific accompaniments to this chapter, but the extra media (art, photosets and music) for the story as a whole can be found [here](http://sluttycas.co.vu/tagged/sequins-and-spirals).

“Alright.” Bobby sighed, as Dean skated over to the rink barrier. “How ‘bout we break for lunch. Your head’s obviously not in it.”

Dean frowned, picking at the ice with the toe of his skate.

“I can go longer, Bobby.” Dean said, although he could hear the lack of conviction in his own voice.

“Nah. Let’s go get some food.” Bobby gruffed, and Dean gave in, pushing off the wall and skating over to the rink exit.

“You gonna tell me what’s got your mind more occupied than 1940’s Europe?” Bobby asked as Dean slid his skates off.

Dean paused, sighing, before returning to untangling his laces. “Nothing. Bobby, it’s fine."

“Bullshit. Tell me what’s really goin’ on. Is it nerves? Because that killed you back in Vancouver. Can’t let ‘em get to you this time.”

“It’s not nerves, it’s just…” Dean trailed off, debating whether he should tell Bobby the truth or not. He was probably headed for a roll of the eyes and a slap on the head either way, so he sucked it up. “My roommate.”

“Why? He keepin’ you up at night?” Bobby asked.

“What?” Dean panicked. “Why the hell would he be keeping me up at night?”

Bobby gave him a confused look, brows furrowing. “Why’re you so on edge, boy? I was just askin’ if he was making too much noise. Or talkin’ on the phone at weird hours. He from a different country?”

“Yeah.” Dean mumbled. “Poland.”

“That’s only a three hour time difference. Max” Bobby said. “What’s he doin’ on the phone so late?”

“No, he wasn’t on the phone…It’s just…” Dean stood up, throwing his skates in his bag. “It’s Novak. My roommate is Castiel Novak.”

“That allowed?” Bobby raised his eyebrows.

“Apparently. Don’t bother making any calls. The one I made was confusing enough.” Dean muttered as they wandered to one of the nearby restaurants.

“Well, it’s surprising, sure. But don’t drive yourself crazy over it. Use it as an opportunity to sabotage.” Bobby joked.

“Don’t even joke about that. Someone might hear you and then I’ll get disqualified or something.” 

“Calm down, princess. Everything’s gonna be fine. So, what. You guys just don’t get along?”

“Forget it, Bobby.” Dean said, and ended the conversation by picking up his menu and trying to decipher exactly what was being offered.

Bobby ended up ordering for both of them, apparently fluent in Russian. Dean raised his eyebrows and Bobby gave him a smug smirk.

“What do you think I do when I’m not coachin’ you, boy?” Bobby chuckled. “Twiddle my thumbs like an old man?”

Dean laughed, but the conversation ended there. Bobby preferred to eat in silence unless they were discussing routines. Dean usually welcomed the peace and quiet, but today it just forced his thoughts to wander. And, really, it shouldn’t be a surprise anymore. These days it’s been less like “wandering thoughts” and more like “one-way express train to Castiel Novak.”

Bobby had been right on his first guess. Dean hadn’t achieved more than two winks of sleep the night before. Because Castiel _fucking_ Novak had been sleeping less than four feet away from him. And it’s not like Dean had been awake because the guy was snoring or moving around. He’d barely heard anything besides the quiet, rhythmic breathing of his dark-haired roommate, juxtaposed against his own rapid heartbeat and restless tossing and turning. And, all night long, Dean had just asked himself, over and over, _Why me?_ When the first rays of sunlight passed through the flimsy curtains, Dean had long given up on sleeping, and had run from the room before Castiel had the chance to wake up.

“Alright. We’re done for the day. Why don’t you go have fun in the Village.” Bobby said as they left the restaurant.

“Wait. You serious?” Dean asked, feeling his eyes light up for the first time that day. “What about Sam’s ‘to-do list?’”

“We’ve been trainin’ for years. And the Games don't start ‘till next week anyway. Go enjoy the Village alcohol. And the free condoms. Boy, you’re wound tighter than a pancake spin.”

“Drink moratorium’s over?”

“S’long as I don’t see you plastered and ass-naked on NBC tomorrow.”

“Alright. Thanks, Bobby, see you later.”

 

\---

 

“Benny?” Dean wrested the door to his room open while cradling a phone between his ear and shoulder.

“Dean? Is that you? Man, I can hardly hear you.” Benny replied, his voice slightly distorted through the speaker.

“Damn international service. Hold on.” Dean muttered as he walked over to the window in his room. “Is that better?”

“Not much. But I can hear words at least. What’s up?”

 “I just got cut free.” Dean said with a smile, admiring the landscape outside.

“Alright, brother. I’ll be done with practice in an hour. You in the Village?”

Dean told him the building and room number before hanging up the phone, toeing off his shoes and going to lie down on his bed. He picked up a pamphlet from the dresser, opening to a list of restaurants available to everyone living in the Olympic Village. After circling a few that looked promising in the alcohol department, he let it fall onto his chest and closed his eyes.

It felt like he had only been asleep for the better part of one minute, when he was jolted awake by the sudden sound of a door slamming shut. Dean was starting to get irrationally angry about constantly being woken up, and he sat up on his elbows, directing a glare towards the source of the noise.

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel said simply, making eye contact as he set a bag down on the floor near the window.

“Couldn't’ve closed the door a little quieter?” Dean grumbled, staring back as Castiel walked over to sit on his own bed.

“I apologize.” He said, simply. “I was not aware of your presence.”

Dean found himself staring at Castiel’s lips as they moved. His accent was so soft… just a barely-there thing under the curl of his tongue and in the movements of his lips. And the guy had these _ridiculously full lips. Wow._

Dean tore his eyes away when he felt a problem beginning to make itself known against the inside of his thigh. And, _yikes_ , he was wearing sweatpants. He carefully maneuvered himself off the side of the bed that faced away from Castiel and took a deep breath, mentally telling himself to chill, and that he’d finally be able to clean the pipes tonight. It didn’t really help, his body was still thrumming with _something_ , but he at least felt his cock soften enough for him to stand without being obvious.

“So. You, uh, speak English pretty well.” Dean mumbled as he dug in his bag for a towel and a bag of toiletries. _Yes. Talking. Talking is good. Distracting._

“I spent a lot of time in the Northern United States as a child.” Castiel replied with a sigh. “I became fluent in English.”

“Eh, you’ve still got a bit of an accent.” Dean gestured at him with his towel.

For some reason, Castiel seemed insulted by the comment and Dean balked.

“Hey, man, don’t sweat it. I like it.” Dean said quickly.

He regretted the words the instant they left his mouth. Castiel’s eyes snapped up to meet his and Dean had never wished more for the ability to rewind time. _Shit_. Dean watched as he rose from the bed, still looking at him with a puzzled expression that was quickly morphing into a slight glare. Castiel walked over until he was standing directly in front of Dean. Literally, like, less than a foot away. Dean stood his ground, eyes focused on Castiel’s darkening blue ones.

“You are a confusing man, Dean Winchester.” Castiel whispered, his easy accent curling around Dean’s name, making each syllable ripple through the air in a way that was almost… _electric_.

And then, suddenly, Castiel pulled back. Without even a glance over his shoulder, he strolled into the bathroom, closing the door and… _yep._ Starting the shower.

“ _Dick.”_ Dean hissed. _What the fuck was that?_ _Was that really just him trying to get in the shower first?_

Dean’s head was spinning and he was _definitely_ hard again. _What the hell._ He looked down at his crotch like it had betrayed him. He pressed the heel of his hand at the base of his dick and winced before sitting back down on the bed with his head in his hands. As much as he’d tried to hide it, Dean has always known, instinctively, that he’s never been one hundred percent straight. Up until now, his foray into the same sex had been limited to the occasional, fairly soft core, gay porn video. And he had only watched them out of curiosity. It wasn’t like he had _gotten off_ to them. A voice in the back of his head told him that, well, _that wasn’t completely true_. Dean _had_ taken some pretty heated showers after those videos. _But it’s never happened in person before._ It had to be a fluke. Pent-up frustration and nerves in his body playing tricks on his libido. So gay porn was kinda hot, and maybe Dean wouldn’t _mind_ if the male doctor from that hospital drama started ordering him around, but that didn’t mean he was _gay._

But Castiel came out of the shower a few moments later, and Dean was left floundering for his heterosexuality once again.

“Cas, _Jesus_. Put some clothes on!”

Castiel turned around, clad in only a towel, water droplets scattered across his broad shoulders, as if just noticing that Dean was there.

“I am about to do so…” Castiel trailed off, eyes squinting at Dean is if he were a puzzle to decode. “What’s wrong, Dean?”

“ _Nothing_. Nothing. Nevermind I-I’m just gonna go shower.” Dean hastily picked up his stuff, deciding last minute to bring a change of clothes with him into the bathroom. To avoid any further _incidents._

Once Dean got under the warmth of the shower, he felt most of the tension leave his body; rivulets of hot water cascading over his shoulders and back. He flexed his back muscles, trying to get some of the kinks out. The shower wasn’t very large, but the water pressure definitely made up for what it lacked in size. Dean leisurely rubbed soap over his body, knowing Benny’s practice would probably run late anyway.

After getting mostly clean, Dean looked down at his cock. It still hung heavy between his thighs. The need was… not _urgent_ , but he _really_ didn’t want any more interactions like the ones he’d just had. He trailed a slick hand down his stomach, pausing to trail his fingers over the crease of his thigh, before taking his cock in hand. He bit his lip to keep from moaning. It was then that it hit Dean that he hadn’t jerked off in almost two _days._ They had been traveling, and then there was his rooming issue, and then this morning he’d had to meet Bobby at 7am. He’d hardly even had time to wash his face. Dean chuckled to himself. No _wonder_ Cas was getting to him. He was the first person he’d been around that wasn’t Bobby or Sammy.

Dean slowly fisted his cock to full hardness, leaning his head back into the water spray and letting the warm droplets fall over his face. He closed his eyes and imagined a woman on her knees for him, licking at his balls and teasing the slit of his cock with her thumb before taking it in her mouth. He stroked harder, twisting on each upstroke. He imagined the girl taking him deeper, moaning around his dick, looking up at him with blue eyes, full lips split wide around his length… _Shit._ Dean was panting and the image was changing. _Short dark hair. Huge blue eyes. Taking him deeper than anyone ever has. Deep gravelly moans every time Dean fucks into his throat…_

 _“Fuck!”_ Dean hissed, pressing his hand against the shower wall for support as he fisted his cock faster, fucking into his hand as he imagined Cas on his knees, sucking him hard, teasing the slit with his tongue, pretty blue eyes half-lidded when he looks up at Dean, swallowing around the head when their eyes meet – “ _Oh fu-unnmf!_ ” Dean quickly shoved his fist against his mouth as he came, hard, against the shower wall, legs shaking from the force of it.

 _“Shit.”_ Dean murmured, watching dazedly as the shower rinsed away all the physical evidence of his fantasy.

Dean stayed in the shower for another five minutes to let the shock wear off from what he’d just done. When it became clear that his shame wasn’t going anywhere soon, he turned the water off and hastily dried himself before throwing on dark jeans and a gray t-shirt and walking out of the bathroom.

Cas was sitting cross-legged on his bed, reading a book with what looked like physics equations scattered on the pages. He looked up from the book when he heard the bathroom door shut and opened his mouth as if to speak, but Dean turned away and busied himself in his suitcase, trying to find a warm enough over shirt to wear out. He pulled out a red and white plaid and slipped it over his shoulders.

“You called me ‘Cas,’ earlier.” Dean heard Castiel say quietly.

Dean turned around to see Cas watching him from the bed.

“What?”

“Instead of ‘Castiel,’ you called me ‘Cas.’ I’ve never had a real nickname before.”

“Oh. I’m, uh… sorry.” _Weird_. Dean didn’t even realize he had done that.

“I don’t mind.” Castiel spoke quietly and he returned his gaze to the book in front of him. “I prefer it, actually.”

Dean wasn’t sure why, but whatever interaction they’d just had made it seem like it was a hundred degrees warmer in the room. As Dean felt a blush creep onto his cheeks, a knock came at the door. They both jumped in surprise, and Dean let out a very strangled bark of a laugh, but it mostly sounded like he was choking on his own tongue.

“That’s, uh, my friend. Benny.” Dean said, making no move to answer the door as he and Cas stared each other down again.

After a moment of tense silence, during which there was another set of knocks, Castiel was the one who spoke. “I believe you should answer it.”

“Right. Yeah.”

Dean walked over to the door, running his hand over his face and blinking a few times in a row to snap himself out of _whatever the hell was wrong with him._ He threw the door open, giving the man standing there a brief, one-armed hug before ushering him into the room.

“Here.” Dean said, handing Benny the pamphlet he had been looking through earlier. “I found a few places we could try.”

“Dean, man, aren’t you gonna introduce me to your roommate here?” Benny drawled, Southern accent in full swing.

“Oh, um, yeah.” Dean gestured vaguely in Cas’ direction. “Benny, this is Cas. Cas, Benny.”

“Very informative.” Benny said, sarcastically, before extending his hand for Cas to shake. “I’m Benny Lafitte. I play hockey for the U.S.”

“Castiel Novak. Figure skater from Poland.”

They shook hands politely, but whatever demeanor Cas had had before, when it was only he and Dean in the room, was gone. He seemed much more stoic. It reminded Dean of what he had now come to dub as “Interview Cas.” Closed off, stone-faced. It also reminded Dean why Cas had bothered him so much in the first place. He had all these modes… and all that did now was make Dean wonder which one was the real Cas.

“We’re going out drinkin’ tonight, skater boy.” Benny continued. “You can join if you feel inclined.”

Cas and Dean responded simultaneously, contradicting each other.

“Yes that –“

“No!”

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah, what I meant was, I don’t want to interrupt your research, man.”

“Screw that.” Benny interjected. “We’ve got limited free nights here. We should get movin’ before all the good times have been had.”

“I don't want to intrude…”

Oh _great._ Now Dean felt like an asshole. “Nah, man, you wouldn’t be intruding. You should come.”

Castiel still looked unsure and Dean wondered if he hadn’t covered the apprehension in his voice well enough.

“Cas, was it? I gotta skype with my girlfriend later, so I have to ditch Dean on the early side anyway. Someone’s gotta be there to take over for me and make sure this dog doesn’t get too wild.” Benny chuckled, gesturing at Dean over his shoulder. “What do you say?”

Dean rolled his eyes, but noticed that Cas shot a fond smile in his direction and he felt his insides do a strange flip.

“I suppose that would be acceptable.” Castiel replied, closing his book and climbing off the bed. “Will there be alcohol involved in this outing? I am quite capable at, as you say, ‘holding my liquor.’”

Benny full out howled with laughter and clapped Cas on the shoulder. “You’re not so bad, man.”

Dean watched Cas smile and joke as Benny pulled vodka and shot glasses out of a duffel bag, and felt a fresh wave of dread wash over him. _He was going to be drunk… with Cas._ The same guy he had just accidentally jerked it to in the shower. _Yeah. Nothing’s gonna go wrong in this scenario._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Catch-Foot: A spin or spiral position in which the free leg is held by one or both hands.
> 
> Pancake Spin: A sit spin that has the leg tucked over the other and the upper body is bent over the leg. (Complicated to visualize so here's an [image](http://www.usfigureskating.org/content/events/200506/Campbells/weir-spin.jpg)).
> 
> If you are curious about more skating terminology go [here](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glossary_of_figure_skating_terms).
> 
> Feedback has been awesome so far and it's great to know what you guys are thinking, so please leave a comment!


	4. Layback Spin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benny takes Dean and Cas to a bar and Dean ends up drinking more than he should.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhh. I'm so sorry for the long wait! I was sick and then I was at a cabin in Vermont where THERE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE WIFI BUT THERE WASN'T and I couldn't upload the chapter until I had wifi. *cries*
> 
> Chapter 5 will be up on Saturday, because there is a slight cliffhanger in this chapter and I'm not totally evil, you guys ;)

Dean watched as Cas’ lips closed around his seventh shot. Benny was watching too, clapping his hands and talking about how _Polish guys are tanks, oh man!_ But Dean doubted that Benny’s attention was focused on what he himself was watching. Cas had nice hands, and for some reason, watching his long, elegant fingers close around the small shot glass was doing things to Dean’s libido. Not to mention the fact that Cas had those lips that apparently looked perfect doing just about anything, and closing around the curved edge of a shot glass was no exception. Benny chose that moment to clap Dean on the shoulder, which was good, because he felt like he had been about to start drooling.

“Man, he can outdrink you!”

“What?” Dean ran a hand over his mouth, just in case. “No way.”

“You haven’t had a drink yet, Dean.” Castiel said, with a smirk. “I’ve had seven. I believe I am already ‘outdrinking’ you."

“Dude, don’t use air quotes.” Dean muttered with a frown. “Gimme that bottle.”

Annnd, that was Dean’s mistake.

They took shots in the room until the walls were spinning. Well, for Dean, they were. Benny threw an arm around Dean’s neck and punched his shoulder.

“Let’s go, my man.” Benny laughed. “Before you fall on your face.”

“You comin’ Cas?” Dean slurred, falling against Benny’s side.

“Yes. I… believe I should.” He glanced at Dean before looking at Benny. “Is he going to be alright?”

“Man, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.” Benny replied with a chuckle.

They made their way through the Olympic Village, Dean calling out names as they passed other athletes.

“And that! _That_ is Daisuke Takahashi.” Dean said, pointing across the street.

Castiel chuckled. “Yes, Dean, we know.”

“ _Well_ , did you know that he’s a podium favorite?” Dean said, spinning to look at Cas.

“Did you know that _I_ am a podium favorite?” Cas replied with a smirk.

“Well, so am I.” Dean muttered, frowning.

“Alright you two, put the blades away.” Benny muttered, pushing them both through the door of the nearest bar.

Castiel, apparently, was friends with a French skater named Brian Joubert, and went over to talk to him when they entered the bar.

“Wow, Dean. You jealous or something?”

Dean hadn’t even realized he’d been staring. “What? No! Why would I be jealous? I don’t even like the guy.”

“Huh.” Benny nodded and went to go sit at the bar.

“What do you mean ‘ _huh?_ ’” Dean asked, suddenly feeling a lot less drunk.

“Calm down, amigo.” Benny sighed, motioning to the bartender for two drinks. “You just seem like you’ve developed a little camaraderie with the ice king over there.”

 “No way, man. He’s not as bad as I originally thought, but he’s still pretty weird.” Dean paused. “Stares a lot.” He added as an afterthought.

“Whatever, buddy.” Benny handed him a beer and walked over to a group of people that seemed to welcome him with open arms.

“Hockey players are in a damn cult.” Dean muttered.

“And figure skaters aren’t?” A deep voice asked, way too close to Dean’s left ear.

“ _Jesus_. Cas, you scared the shit out of me.”

“Apologies. Would you like to come meet Brian?”

“I don’t need to meet your skating boyfriend, Cas.”

Cas looked at him with a puzzled expression. “Brian is not my boyfriend. We are old friends. …Although, he may have had some kind of romantic attachment to my costume designer. He and Balthazar _did_ disappear together sometimes… I had never considered that...”

Cas had spaced out and now looked mildly surprised by his own revelation.

“Hey, earth to Cas. That’s great and all, but how ‘bout we quit the skater talk and just get some drinks.”

“You have a drink, Dean.”

“I know, Cas. It’s just an expression.”

Dean sat with Cas at the bar in what felt like companionable silence. They were approached by a few other skaters as the night went on, whom Dean spoke with politely, but Cas definitely seemed better suited to the task. He would compliment each of them animatedly about the athleticism in their jumps and spins, and ask them when they started skating. One or two definitely were looking to do more than _talk_ with Cas, and it made Dean uncomfortable in a way that he didn’t want to think about. _Not jealous_.

He attempted to pound that thought into his head by pounding more shots and, soon enough, the room was spinning and he was falling off the barstool. The last thing he remembered seeing was a pair of concerned blue eyes looming over him.

 

\---

 

Dean opened his eyes and was immediately overcome by the urge to both throw up and never open his eyes again. He groaned as the urge to throw up became stronger and he pried his eyes open, blinking the dryness away and fighting the muscles trying desperately to keep them closed. The room came slowly into focus.

Castiel was sitting on his own bed, knees hugged to his chest, watching Dean attentively. Dean jerked and almost fell out of bed, hastily bringing his sheets to cover his chest, which he realized, was bare. Upon that realization, he immediately peeked under the covers. _Pants. Thank god._

"Christ, Cas!" Dean brought a hand to cover his eyes. "Don't _do_ that. It's just creepy."

"Good morning, Dean."

Dean shook his head, muttering under his breath as he shuffled through his bag for a pair of pants that didn't smell like beer. "The hell happened last night."

"You were acting... strange."

Dean immediately stiffened. _Had he said something?_

"Yeah?" He asked, voice stiffly casual.

"You kept mumbling about 'stupid figure skating costumes.' It was very odd, considering no one was wearing skating attire last night."

"Dude, your vocabulary is insane." Dean muttered. "That all I said?"

Castiel ignored Dean's grammar comment and frowned. "There was... more. It's difficult to remember. Benny helped me bring you back here and you kept whispering to him. Perhaps you should ask him what he remembers."

Castiel was starting to sound terse, and a bit aggravated. He got up and walked over to the window without saying anything further. Dean figured he could drop the topic, considering it didn't _seem_ that he'd said anything incriminating about... well, jerking off in the shower to his roommate, for one. With one last look at Cas’ turned back, he sighed and walked into the bathroom with the mission to make his mouth taste less like a horse's ass and his stomach feel less like he'd swallowed a bowling ball.

 

\---

 

Once Dean had showered, his thoughts became much clearer and he couldn’t help but replay his interaction with Cas over and over in his mind. He distractedly combed his fingers through his hair in the mirror while trying to figure out exactly how to approach a seemingly disgruntled Cas about a night he didn’t even _remember_. When he stepped back into the bedroom, however, it was empty. Dean glanced around, noting that Cas’ sports bag was still at the foot of his bed. His skates were dangling from the bedpost and it made Dean panic because, seriously, _had he done something that made Cas not want to be alone with him?_

The shrill ring of his phone interrupted his train wreck of nervous thoughts. He followed the sound, rifling through piles of clothes until he finally dug it out from the tangle of sheets on his bed.

“Benny? Hey. Do you know what the hell happened last night?” Dean urged, barely giving Benny a chance to breathe.

“Calm down, brother, what woke you up on the wrong side of the bed?”

Dean’s mind was suddenly filled with the image of Cas sitting across from him, eyes wide and beautiful and blue as he watched Dean sleep. He felt his face heat up and he stammered for a moment before taking a deep breath. “Nothing. Nothing. I don’t know. Cas is being weird.”

“Well isn’t he already kind of the crazy great aunt?” Benny joked. “I dunno, man, he seemed fine when we walked you back together… even though you were actin’ like an idiot. Kept falling all over the both of us. You would stop every five minutes and whisper in my ear, but you slur like a drunk pirate and I couldn’t make out a damn word.”

Dean could practically _hear_ Benny rolling his eyes.

“So, nothing then? Nothing that would make Cas hate me for some reason?”

“What’s up with you two?” Benny asked, suddenly.

“What? What would be up with _us_? Cas is the weird one.”

“And you’re the one going all ‘private detective’ trying to figure out if there’s any chance in hell that you antagonized the guy.” Benny retorted. “Dean… am I missing something?”

“What the fuck would you be missing.” Dean hissed, heart pounding in his ears.

“Calm down, brother. I’m just saying I don’t know everything about you and if there’s something you wanna tell me I promise I – “

“Shut up.” Dean whispered. “Never bring that up again. It’s not… _I’m_ not like that.”

“Dean – “

“Goodbye.”

Dean threw the phone on the bed, hands shaky as he rubbed them over his eyes. _I’m not. I’m not gay for Cas._ No matter how many times he repeated the mantra, the rest of his mind was screaming, _You are. You totally are._

“I am so fucked.” Dean collapsed onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Here he was, at the fucking _Olympics_ , and all he could think about was how hot his roommate looked in a pair of tights, how adorable he was when he tried to understand Dean’s terrible puns, and how strangely endearing it was that Cas seemed to enjoy watching him sleep.  
  
“Shit.” Dean muttered, sitting up and scrambling for his phone.

Sure enough, there were eleven texts and six missed calls from Sam, and three calls from Bobby.

“Boy, you better have a real good reason why you didn’t meet up with Sam this morning. And you better get your ass to the skating rink at 12 o’clock sharp if you want your balls to stay attached to your body.”

Dean winced and hit ‘next’ on the list of voicemails. It was more of the same. Sam and Bobby yelling at him, which he deserved, calling him irresponsible, also deserved, and reckless. Dean sighed and glanced at the time while half-listening to Sam’s bitching. 11:30. He decided he’d wait and deal with the fallout in person and grabbed his stuff before heading over to the rink.

On his way there, he convinced himself that he was only looking around because he wanted to take in the sights. It wasn’t because he wanted to see Cas. _No way._

 

\---

 

Somehow, the whole “missed meeting” incident got smoothed over without the loss of precious body parts. Sam mostly yelled at Bobby, for letting Dean go “drink his medal away,” and he ended up taking most of the blame. Although Bobby _did_ give Dean a salad for lunch as punishment.

“So what really happened?” Sam asked, as he and Dean walked around town after training.

“I told you, Sam. Drop it.” Dean kicked a stray pebble and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“You barely told us anything. Plus I haven’t seen you in days. Catch me up on your life, Dean.”

Dean made no move to open his mouth and started trying to walk faster than Sam’s giant strides. _No use._

“Bobby tells me you’re rooming with Castiel Novak?” Sam asked, matching Dean’s strides.

Dean could tell Sam meant nothing by the question, and his tone was strictly casual, but it didn’t stop Dean from putting up every wall he could to protect himself.

“Yeah what about it?” He muttered.

“Nothing, I’m just… surprised. How’s it going?”

Dean could hear the barely contained mirth in his brother’s voice, and he knew that Sam was expecting some kind of great story about how much they clash, how badly Dean wants to sabotage the guy, and the fact that it’s “just Dean’s luck” to get placed with the one figure skater he hates more than hybrid cars. Only problem is, none of that is true anymore. Dean’s mind is a big jumbled mess, and he kind of hates Cas for _that_ , but really he knows it’s his own fault.

“I, uh… it’s fine. Cas isn’t so bad.”

“Cas?” Sam asked, shock evident in his voice.

 _Oops._ “He, uh, likes to be called that.” _Only a slight lie._

“Well you two must be hitting it off if you’re already referring to him by his nickname.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Apparently not. He stormed off this morning. I think I said something last night.”

Sam laughed.

“It’s not funny, Sam.” Dean said, kicking his brother’s shin.

“Ow, fuck you, Dean.” Sam muttered, hopping slightly on one foot and shoving Dean’s shoulder. “I’m just laughing because it sounds like you’ve got a hell of a soap opera going on in the Olympic Village. Just like Dr. Sexy.”

Dean glared at Sam, but Sam was already laughing like he’d just made the funniest joke in human history.

“I’m so done with this conversation, Sam.” Dean turned and walked into a pastry shop.

“Wait, Dean, hold on.”

Sam rushed into the shop after Dean, but Dean was already standing at the counter and pointing to a beautiful tart that looked to be filled with apples.

“Don’t give that to him.”

“Too late, Sammy.”

Dean watched as the shop owner reached into the display case with a gloved hand, but then Sam knocked on the glass. Dean almost growled as the confused shop owner let go of the tart and stood up.

“Sam, just let me have a fucking dessert. I don’t compete for another week and I haven’t had pie in _ages_.”

“No, Dean. You start the team competition in less than a week and there’s no way I’m letting your sweet tooth start to control your appetite. You know as well as I do that one slice of that pie and you’ll want one every day.”

“Who cares?”

“Um, your waistline, your energy, your muscle mass, your ability to _do_ _jumps._ ”

“Do you really have to be such a controlling jerk? It’s like you’re not even my brother anymore. You’re like... a hyperactive… health-crazy dietician.”

“Dean…”

“Just forget it.”

Dean waved away the shop owner and stood in front of the display case. The pie didn’t seem that sweet anymore.

“Dean?” It wasn’t Sam’s voice.

Dean spun around.

“Cas?” Dean asked, eyes wide as he spotted his dark-haired roommate across the room.

“Hello, Dean.” Cas walked over to the front of the shop where Dean and Sam stood.

Dean’s eyes darted nervously over Cas’ figure, and he was inevitably distracted from forming sentences by the way Cas’ shirt was tucked into his pants and how well the fabric clung to the muscles of his abdomen.

“Castiel Novak, right?” Sam said cheerfully.

Dean sheepishly averted his gaze from Cas’ waist, and waited for him to answer.

“…Yes...” He didn’t look at Sam, instead his gaze was fixed on Dean.

Dean stared back, internally stressing about the fact that Cas had probably, _definitely_ , seen the embarrassingly thorough attention his crotch had been getting from Dean’s eyes. It was Cas who broke the contact, extending his hand for Sam to shake.

“And you are?”

“Sam Winchester. I’m Dean’s brother.” Sam shook Cas’ hand with a smile.

“It is very good to meet you, Sam.”

Sam looked slightly taken aback by Cas’ earnest attention, but he recovered quickly. “You too. Hope Dean’s not giving you too much trouble.”

Cas smiled to himself for a moment and glanced at Dean. Dean tried very hard to fight the blush that was beginning to rise on the back of his neck. Maybe Cas wasn’t _actually_ mad at him. If that was the case, he had basically freaked out like a _girl_ for no reason. _What was Cas doing to him._

“Dean is… an interesting roommate. I have enjoyed spending time with him and his friends.”

Sam laughed. “You don’t have to lie to me, man. I know he can be a pain in the ass.”

Cas looked at Sam, confused. “Dean has done nothing to cause discomfort to my rear.”

The blush Dean had been failing to fight _burned_ on his cheeks at that, and he quickly tried to rectify the situation over Sam’s outrageously loud laughter.

“Sam, shut up – Sam!” Dean waited for Sam’s pathetic guffawing to stop and turned to Cas. “Listen, man, it’s an expression. It just means I can be a dick sometimes.”

“I fail to see ho-“

“Cas, forget it.” Dean snapped, shoving Sam in the direction of the door before this got anymore embarrassing.

He looked back at Cas once Sam was out the door. He still seemed confused, but he looked more _dejected_ as he stared down at a loaf of bread he’d been holding. Dean rushed over and put a hand on his shoulder. Cas jerked up, his eyes meeting Dean’s and making his heart melt just that much more.

“Listen, Cas. It’s not a big deal.” Dean said in a rushed whisper, glancing out the window to make sure Sam wasn’t watching. “It’s just a dumb American expression.”

Cas looked at Dean for just a moment longer, before his face cracked into a giant smile. “I am actually aware of the expression, Dean. My… blunder… was calculated. I mean to say that I was joking.”

Dean stood there in shock. And then he was laughing harder than he ever had in his life, clutching Cas’ shoulder for support as he doubled over in breathless glee.

“Cas, man… that’s gotta be the funniest thing I’ve heard in a while.” Dean said, his voice still touched by an undercurrent of laughter.

Cas smiled back at him like Dean had just given him the highest praise possible and it made Dean flush with satisfaction; before he realized that they were just a hair’s breadth away from _having a moment_ , and Sam was still waiting outside.

“Yeah. So, anyway, I’ll see you back at the room.” Dean patted Cas’ shoulder awkwardly before leaving the shop without a second look.

 

\---

 

Later that evening found Dean resting on his bed, staring at the ceiling and replaying the bakery events over and over in his head. He groaned and slammed a pillow over his face when he heard the door open. He lay there, still, listening to the sound of footsteps as they made their way closer to his bed. There was a slight disturbance, like someone had placed something next to him, and then the bed dipped with the weight of a person near his legs. Dean threw the pillow off his face, and there was Cas, sitting on the edge of Dean’s bed with a small smile.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean propped himself up on his elbows, but didn’t say anything. His mind wasn’t exactly working because Cas was _sitting on his bed._

“I brought you something.”

Correction: Cas was sitting on his bed and _bringing him pie_.

“Holy shit, Cas.” Dean mumbled, picking up the box that had been placed at his hip. “Thanks, man.”

“You’re welcome. I overheard you begging Sam to let you eat dessert and I found your argument sound, so...”

“I, uh…” Dean glanced back and forth between the pie and Cas’ face. “D-do you want some?”

“If you’re willing to share.” He replied with a grin.

“Dude, you brought me pie. You automatically get a share of the profits. It’s just good business.”

Dean opened the box and pulled out the two forks he found inside.

“Kinda presumptuous of you, Cas.” Dean said, waving the utensils. “Maybe you shouldn’t have a share in my pie after all.”

“You wouldn’t have a share in it yourself if I hadn’t invested in it in the first place.” Cas replied with a smirk.

Dean threw a fork at Cas and laughed, moving to sit across from him on the bed as he dug into the box of pie.

“Plates are overrated.” Dean said as he shoveled in his first bite. “Mmf. And thish ish damn good pie.”

“Attractive.” Cas mumbled, watching the crumbs spill from Dean’s mouth as he spoke.

“Shut up and eat the pie, Cas.”

They sat there with nothing but a pie between them as darkness fell outside.

“Dean… I want to apologize for snapping at you this morning. I was… hungover.”

“That all it was?” Dean asked quietly, looking at the empty box in front of them.

“Yes.”

The peaceful, pie-eating atmosphere had shifted suddenly and everything was tense. Dean stayed silent and didn’t meet Cas’ eyes, even though he could feel his roommate watching him.

After what felt like an eternity of awkward silence, Cas stood from the bed. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. G’night, Cas.”

Dean looked up as Cas walked away. “Hey!” He called after him, prompting Cas to turn around. “Thanks for the pie.”

Cas smiled and nodded before disappearing into the bathroom. Dean shoved the pie box off the bed and climbed underneath the covers. He squeezed his eyes shut and focused on counting axel rotations instead of counting the amount of times Cas had surprised him.

Which reminded him: _he needed to update that list_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Layback Spin: A spin position in which the back is arched and head dropped back, the free leg bent behind, and the arms often stretched to the ceiling or arched overhead. Here's a [visual example](http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/236x/8e/82/5a/8e825a5bc4b1692afd1b32886fd17c26.jpg) with a catch-foot.
> 
> If you are curious about more skating terminology go [here](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glossary_of_figure_skating_terms)
> 
> Pleeeeeaase comment! I live off of them and so does this story! So whether you love it, hate it, or you just want to skip the dialogue and get to the sexytimes (just kidding you still have to wait), let me know!
> 
> Thank you _all_ for the amazing feedback so far, and I will eventually get around to replying to everyone's amazing comments. Please know that I squeal every time I see a new one.


	5. Cantilever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took way too long to finish and I have no excuse other than the fact that I am a butt that procrastinates a lot.
> 
> The good news is, this story has to be finished by April 1st so I can pour my soul into the DeanCas Big Bang. So yay! All will be resolved within the month. (Also this chapter is 1000 words longer than usual!)
> 
> Thanks again for the amazing feedback, the only reason this story survived the Great Writer's Block of February is because of everyone's amazing comments. _Please_ keep them coming!
> 
> Special thanks to my awesome friend [Evi](http://bluesilktie.tumblr.com), who took the time away from her own writing to beta this chapter. (She's also a bomb.com artist and you should go check out her stuff uwu)

Dean had a small moment of panic when he couldn’t find the list the next morning. Cas was still fast asleep in the bed next to Dean’s, and Dean was ransacking his suitcase, looking for the little slip of paper like it was a gold medal.

“ _Did I throw it away?_ ” Dean muttered under his breath, holding the jeans he’d worn on the plane in one hand while using the other to dig through the outside pocket of his suitcase.

Dean gave up, stuffing the pants and all his other scattered clothes back into the ransacked bag. He rubbed his hand over his face and racked his brain, trying desperately to remember if he’d _actually_ thrown the damn thing away. _If Cas ever found it…_ Dean shook away the thought and stood. _He must’ve thrown it away. He **must have.**_

 

\---

 

The rest of the days leading up to the Opening Ceremony passed without much fanfare. Dean trained, dealt with Sam’s new diet plan, and spent a lot of time in Benny’s room playing poker with him and his roommate, Ash, who was competing in the men’s Super Combined. Two days before the ceremony, Dean ended up sleeping there, curled up on the small couch with a spare blanket. He tried desperately to convince himself that it wasn’t because he was avoiding Cas.

Cas had been oddly quiet ever since the pie incident, limiting his interactions with Dean to light greetings in the morning if they ever crossed paths. He’d also started going out in the evenings, returning at odd hours of the night when even _Dean_ was already sleeping. And Dean found himself wishing he could go back to the way he’d been at the Olympics in Vancouver, when he’d made it his mission to sleep with as many people as the free condoms allowed. And it wasn’t for lack of trying, or lack of offers; he just… didn’t have it in him this time. And yet, he remained more pent up than he’d been in high school, waking up hard and aching and jacking off in the shower, pretending that blue eyes and dark hair didn’t mean a damn thing.

Dean woke up early the next morning, Ash and Benny still snoring loudly in their respective beds. He rolled over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling as his mind drifted casually between thoughts of food and maybe a warm shower. Rubbing his palm over his stomach, he closed his eyes as his mind began to stray to thoughts of Cas. He’d been acting strange ever since the night with the pie. _Ever since Dean had asked him what happened the night they went out together._ He sighed and allowed his mind to race through possibilities as he gathered his things quietly, trying not to wake Benny and Ash. He grabbed his bag and wallet and slipped out the door, yawning as he began the walk back to his building, the cool morning air a welcome wake up call for his tired skin.

Dean rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, relishing in the way that it made his eyes feel like they were being massaged back into the world of consciousness. With a sigh, he rearranged his bag on his shoulder as he fiddled with his key, shoving it into the lock with more force than he’d intended. He winced, knowing that it was still pretty early and Cas was probably asleep. Carefully, he removed the key and let the door slide open slowly, silently begging it not to creak. Thankfully, it didn’t, and Dean cautiously stepped through the entryway, closing the door behind him as quietly as possible.

He’d intended to flop down onto his bed and sleep – _Benny and Ash’s couch was uncomfortable, damn_ – but what he saw when he turned the corner made him stop in his tracks. Dean dropped his bag with an undignified squawk, back-pedaling frantically to the far end of the room. Helplessly, he clutched at the wall for support because, there was Cas, sprawled out on the bed, eyes clenched firmly shut, with his long _gorgeous_ fingers curled tight around his length. His shirt was hiked up around his collarbone, one hand toying with a nipple as he moaned and bucked into his own touch. And there was this… _fucking freckle_ that made Dean want to attack Cas’ entire chest with his tongue. He could feel himself hardening fast in his warm-up pants, and Cas still hadn’t fucking noticed he was even _there_.

Cas’ movements were quickly growing uncontrolled, and Dean was fucking _throbbing_ in the confines of his briefs as he watched Cas fuck into his fist and scratch his nails over his nipples, writhing on the bed and tilting his head back against the headboard. He was whimpering now, every noise going straight to Dean’s cock as Cas mumbled, rushed and incoherent, between gasping breaths.

Dean knew he needed to fucking _leave, fuck_ , but he couldn’t move to save his life. He couldn’t figure out where to look either; eyes darting over the tempting expanse of Cas’ neck, his flushed cheeks, that fucking _freckle_ , and the flushed head of Cas’ cock as he fisted himself desperately… _God._ He looked so fucking _desperate_. So desperate to come all over himself… And suddenly Dean was imagining himself in Cas’ lap, riding him _hard_ as Cas fucked up into him… _Fuck._ Dean couldn’t help it, the image hit him like a freight train and he _moaned_.

Cas’ eyes shot open, terror overtaking his expression when they met with Dean’s, but it was too late—Cas was coming with a shocked, desperate cry that Dean was going to jerk off to for the rest of his _life_ , and he felt a huge drop of precome wet the front of his pants as his hips rocked forward instinctively. He was so _hard._ Harder than he’d been in ages, but he somehow managed to muster the strength to grab his bag and scramble out of the room before Cas opened his eyes again to see what a fucking _creep_ Dean had been. Once he was in the safety of the, thankfully empty, hallway, he faced the wall, bracing himself against it with one hand and shoving the other into his pants. The second he closed his fingers around his dick, he was coming, hard, gasping as he thrust his hips forward and pushed his forehead into the door jamb for support.

“ _Fuck_.”Dean whispered, eyes shut and legs shaking as he felt wetness pool in his briefs. “ _Fuck!”_

Refusing to pause and think about what had just happened, he picked up his bag and rushed downstairs on wobbly legs, still panting as he locked himself in the men’s room. His head was spinning, replaying the image of Cas coming undone over and _over_ , and Dean would be lying if he said his spent dick wasn’t feebly twitching at the mere _memory_.

He tried to calm his breathing as he dug his phone out of his pocket, dialing Sam with shaking fingers.

“Ugh, fucking gross,” he mumbled, realizing his right hand was covered in drying come. He held the phone between his ear and shoulder and scrubbed his hands in the sink as he waited for Sam to pick up.

“Dean?”

“Sam, I’m coming over early. Are you and Bobby in the hotel?”

“Yeah, we’re here. You sound spooked. What’s up?” Sam was using that ‘concerned younger brother’ voice and Dean was suddenly overcome by the urge to punch something.

“I’m fine, Sammy, _Jesus_. I don’t need you to Dr. Phil my head.”

“Dean…"

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Dean threw the phone on top of his bag and pulled his pants down, wincing as he cleaned himself off as best as he could. His underwear wasn’t even close to salvageable, and no way was he leaving _that_ embarrassing evidence in his bag, so he shoved them deep in the garbage. He grabbed a spare pair of jeans from his bag instead and stepped into them, tucking himself away gingerly before zipping them shut. Bracing himself on the sink, he regarded himself in the mirror, noting his still-dilated pupils and flushed cheeks.

“ _Fuck_.” Dean whispered, splashing cold water on his face. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t really help, but he hoped it would grant him at least enough sanity to catch a cab.

 

\---

 

“Dean wh-“

“No time for a heart to heart, Sammy. I need Bobby to help me track down my Opening Ceremony outfit thing. He never put it in my bag.” Dean shoved his way past Sam into the room. “Bobby? Where are you?”

“Quit your yelling, boy.” Bobby emerged from one of the bedrooms, holding a small bundle of patriotic colors. “I got your Team USA stuff right here.”

Dean went to grab it, but Bobby pulled away.

“Now don’t throw a hissy fit… s’not like I designed these damn things.” Bobby relinquished his grip and let the clothes fall into Dean’s hands.

Dean raised an eyebrow as he held the sweater out in front of him. _No._

“No. _Fuck_ NO.” Dean said, holding the patchwork nightmare as far away from his chest as possible. “What the _hell…”_

Sam grabbed it from his outstretched hand, and held it between two hands to get a better look. He promptly doubled over in laughter, crumpling the sweater in his fists.

“Dean, this is the best thing-“

Dean sighed, shaking his head as he looked up at the ceiling and questioned his entire existence.

“I hear that Ralph Lauren guy designed them…” Bobby supplied, apprehensive.

“Well, of course he did. He designs them _every_ year. I think it’s nice. Don’t you, Dean?”

Dean internally groaned, regretfully turning to face…

“Ruby.”

“Hey, ice queen.” She smirked, crossing her arms.

“Oh, really? I thought that was _your_ name.” Dean retorted, not missing a beat.

“I’m not the one who goes out in sparkles, sweet cheeks.”

“Oh no. _No way_. I don’t fucking wear _sparkles_.”

“You definitely wouldn’t if you’d just let me design for you.” Ruby said, stepping forward and fingering Dean’s shirtsleeve. “These broad shoulders would look so good in a little smoking jacket… some great pants. I’ve got the _best_ fabrics.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be dating my brother?” Dean hissed, glaring down at her. “Have some self-respect. Pamela will be here any minute. You know, the one who actually _designs_ my shit.”

“Can you two just stop?” Sam spoke suddenly, rubbing one hand over his face, exasperated.

“She started it.” Dean mumbled, tearing his shoulder away from Ruby’s hand. “Stop touching me. _Jesus._ ”

A knock at the door interrupted whatever retort Ruby had been about to come up with and she turned to Sam instead, asking him something under her breath. Dean shook his head and watched as Bobby opened the door.

“Hey, big boys.” Pamela said, winking at Bobby as she walked through the door and hung a pair of sunglasses on the collar of her shirt, dragging the fabric down slightly.

Dean found he appreciated the view less than usual and he pursed his lips, exhaling through his nose because he was _annoyed_. And not because he _didn’t_ enjoy the view, but because he knew exactly _why_ he didn’t.

“Two times in one week, Dean.” Pamela said as she sauntered over to him. “I’m a luckier girl here than I am in the States.”

Dean forced a smile, still feeling tense.

“Aw come on, what’s got your panties in a twist?”

Dean flushed. “I’m fine. Well… not really. Did you see what Ralph Lauren is putting us in for the Opening Ceremony?”

Sam held up the sweater and Pamela started laughing so hard that Dean started to worry about her ability to breathe.

“Okay we get it. I have to wear the Christmas sweater from hell. _Ha ha_. Fucking hilarious. Can we drop it?” Dean muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Don’t worry, darlin’.” Pamela said with one last chuckle. “What I’ve got for your free skate will more than make up for that disaster. Now come on.” She shoved a bag into Dean’s hands. “Go try _that_ on for size.”

Dean shook his head and rolled his eyes, smiling as he walked into one of the bedrooms. He liked having Pamela as a designer, mostly because she always made sure his head was on straight… but she also made some pretty awesome things. Dean quickly dressed himself in the items from the bag and grinned when he saw the final result in the mirror. He walked back into the main room, not quite able to keep the infectious grin off his face.

Pamela whistled when he walked in. “That’s my boy. Give us a spin.”

“Oh come on.” Dean mumbled, turning slowly. “S’not like I’m wearing a dress…”

“Dean, you look _beautiful_.” Ruby said, smirking as she watched him.

“Oh shove it, you-“

“Dean!” Sam cut him off, frowning.

Dean scowled and walked over to Pamela, thinking a few choice words in Ruby’s general direction.

“I swear it’s like you can read my mind.” Dean said as Pamela fiddled with the hem of the shirt.

She raised an eyebrow. “Maybe I can. Although it does help that you _tell_ me what you want.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like I give you a sketch of the idea or anything.”

“Well you can go ahead and believe I’m psychic, but I’m pretty sure that it’s just a mark of a good designer. And I’m definitely _pretty_ good.” She stood back to admire her work. “I don’t think it needs any adjustments! Looks perfect.”

“Yeah it does.” Dean smoothed his hands down the smooth green material of the shirt, loving the way it felt on his skin. “I think the jacket makes it.”

“You like the racing stripes on the arms?” Pamela asked, smoothing one hand over a wrinkle in the sleeve.

“Love ‘em.” Dean nodded glancing at his shoulder. “And the matching ones on the pants too.”

“You’re gonna _shine_ out there.” Pamela smiled, stepping back again. “I made the shirt with a great new material. It should look exactly like silk, but it’s moisture-wicking and no one will be able to see you sweat.”

Dean laughed. “Thanks, Pamela. You really outdid yourself.”

“I always do.”

“Ruby and I are gonna head out for a bit.” Sam interrupted.

“No one cares, bitch.” Dean muttered, turning to face his brother.

“Wasn’t talking to you, jerk.” Sam retorted. “Hey, Bobby, is there anything else Dean and I need to do before team competition starts tomorrow?”

“Well, Dean needs to stop bein’ so damn nervous…” Bobby glanced at Dean from where he was sitting on the couch. “But, no. You’re both free to do whatever for the rest of the day I _guess_.”

“Alright. See you guys later.” Sam turned and followed Ruby to the door.

“Bye, Dean!” Ruby called in a sickly sweet tone that made Dean want to throw up on her.

“Dean, make sure you get some good rest tonight.” Sam added, turning around one last time, brow furrowed in concern. “You look like you haven’t been sleeping.”

Dean rolled his eyes and jerked his head once in agreement, watching as the door closed behind his brother. Suddenly he was filled with dread—it was true, he hadn’t really been sleeping well, and… had he practiced enough? _Fuck_. The team competition started tomorrow, and then the Opening Ceremony was the night after _that_ …

“Boy, you look like you’re about to have a heart attack.” Dean startled a little, not having noticed Bobby getting up from the couch to stand beside him. “Either that or ya ate somethin’ you shouldn’t have.”

“I’m freaking out, Bobby.”

“Well look who’s Captain of the obvious,” Bobby gruffed, frowning. “What’s eatin’ you, Dean?”

“I’m not ready. Team competition starts _tomorrow_ and I’m not _ready._ ” Dean felt his breathing start to shallow. “What if I sleep through it? God. _What if I suck?_ What if I didn’t practice enough-“

“Calm _down,_ princess.” Bobby spoke slowly.

“Dean, it’s gonna be fine. You’re going to be _great_.” Pamela chimed in.

“She’s right, Dean. You’ve done everything you can at this point. Now go get some goddamn sleep and stop stressing. You’re gonna give me another ulcer.” Bobby said, shooing him away.

Obediently, Dean went back into the bedroom to change back into his street clothes, folding the costume and tucking it into his duffel.

“Thanks again, Pamela. Costume’s perfect.” Dean shot her a half smile as he walked over to the door.

“You’re welcome, hon.”

“See you tomorrow, Bobby.” Dean turned around, one hand on the door. “Will you shoot me a wakeup call?”

“You bet.”

 

\---

 

Dean trudged up the stairs to his room, repeating the silent prayer he’d been thinking during the entire cab ride back, ‘ _dear god, please don’t let Cas be there.’_ Wishful thinking, of course.

Dean pushed the door open and walked into the room, cheeks starting to flush at the memories from earlier. Once he’d walked all the way in, it soon became apparent that, one, his prayers hadn’t worked, and two, they _really_ hadn’t worked because Cas wasn’t alone.

“Uhhh…” Dean supplied, eloquently, eyeing the pair sitting on Cas’ bed.

Cas looked up, a bright red flush appearing on his cheeks almost instantly and he opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by the other figure on the bed, who stood and turned to face Dean.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t _the_ Dean Winchester,” the guy grinned, twirling a lollipop between two fingers.

“Who are you?”

“Moi? Gosh I’m offended.” He craned his neck to look back at Cas. “Cassie, can you believe it? He doesn’t know who I am!”

 _Cassie?_ Okay, Dean was pretty sure he didn’t like this guy.

“Well, _Dean._ Can I call you Dean?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Name’s Gabriel. I’m Cassie’s _favorite_ brother, and I also happen to be the speed skating world champion.”

“No you’re not.” Castiel deadpanned, scowling from where he still sat on the bed.

“Well, maybe not the _world_ champion, but I’m hoping I can snag bronze this time around.” Gabriel said, grinning. When Dean made no move to respond, he continued, “Cassie here was just telling me about your impeccable sense of timing.”

Gabriel smirked as he said it, popping the lollipop back between his teeth.

“Gabriel!” Cas shouted, jumping up from his perch on the mattress.

“Calm down, bro! It’s not like he doesn’t _know._ ” Gabriel said, winking at Dean.

“You should leave.”

“ _Cassie!”_ Gabriel whined, spinning to face Cas, looking like a petulant child.

“I need to talk to Dean alone.”

“Oh _really?_ ”

Gabriel waggled his eyebrows suggestively, eyes darting between the two roommates. _Yep. Dean hated him._

“Gabriel. Go.” Cas spoke through clenched teeth, glaring at Gabriel hard enough to make even Dean shiver.

“Fine, fine, I know when I’m not wanted.” Gabriel raised his hands in surrender, pouting as he turned to leave the room. Just as he placed a hand on the doorknob he spun back around, a mischievous grin spreading on his face. “By the way, Dean, you should know that Cassie’s descriptions did _not_ do you justice. You’re hotter than Fireball candy.”

Gabriel winked and sped out the door before Cas could open his mouth, and Dean found himself red-faced and fuming, but also flattered and disconcerted.

“I’m really sorry about him.” Cas began, not meeting Dean’s eyes, cheeks flushed. “He has no sense of propriety.”

“Neither do I, apparently.” Dean rubbed a hand on the back of his neck, looking anywhere besides Cas. “I’m, uh… I’m sorry about earlier.”

“That’s okay.”

Dean chanced a glance back at his dark-haired roommate, who was staring down at his own feet, avoiding Dean’s gaze. He slowly looked up and met Dean’s eyes.

“I wanted to talk to you… but not about that. Not _really_.” Cas spoke quietly. “I found something that belongs to you…” Cas trailed off as he rummaged through some papers that were lying on his bed, before pulling a small, wrinkled sheet from the pile. “I found it on the floor… I thought it was mine and then I realized…” Cas shook his head and shoved the paper in Dean’s hand. “I found it the other day. It’s… why I’ve not been… quite myself. I understand this is… awkward, and I apologize if I ever make you uncomfortable.”

Dean stared down at the paper, blood draining from his face when he saw what was written on it: “Things I Know About Castiel Novak.” _Fuck_.

“I am… ‘gay as fuck,’ I believe.” Cas started to move towards the door, refusing to meet Dean’s eyes. “I’m not sure about the truthfulness of the rest.”

Cas left through the door that Gabriel had left open, shutting it quietly before Dean could even open his mouth to speak. He stared at the list, still reeling in shock, mixed with embarrassment and another emotion that he wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge, before ripping the entire paper in half and throwing it away from himself as hard as he could. Of course, it was completely unsatisfying, seeing as he was throwing _paper_ and even though he’d thrown it hard enough to feel a twinge in his shoulder, the twin pieces fluttered to the ground in such an annoyingly peaceful way that Dean almost screamed in frustration. He kicked the frame of his bed, cursing under his breath.

“I should’ve fucking known.” Dean muttered. “Should’ve known. _Fuck._ ”

Dean stood in the room for another second before racing out the door and slamming it behind him. Cas wasn’t in the hallway, so Dean rushed downstairs and out the front door of the building.

“Cas.” Dean spotted him sitting on the edge of one of the cheap fountains, this one made to look like a female figure skater, mid-spin.

Cas looked up upon hearing his name. “Dean…”

“Cas, I…” Dean trailed off when he was finally standing before Cas. “Can I sit?”

“You may.” Cas met his gaze coolly as Dean lowered himself to sit beside Cas on the cold, rough stone.

“I’m a dick.”

“Are you?”

Dean gave Cas an apologetic smile, their eyes still locked in a gaze that he didn’t feel compelled to break this time.

“I really am.” Dean sighed, eyes darting briefly to Cas’ lips before meeting his stare once more. “I, uh… feel like I should explain…”

“The list was very thorough. There’s not much to explain.”

Cas turned away and Dean felt a stabbing pain in his chest. He reached out and grabbed Cas’ shoulder, making him look back at Dean, eyes wide.

“No, there _really_ is.” Dean urged, Cas’ shoulder warm under his hand. “There’s… no excuse… But I do owe you an explanation. And an apology.” Dean spoke softly, Cas’ now-unwavering gaze making him feel out of his element. “I judged you before I’d even said two words to you. Hell, before I’d even _seen_ you in _person_. I’m such a dick, Cas. You’re better off without me as your friend anyway. I do shit like this all the time. I’m a judgmental asshole who doesn’t know when to shut his mouth. And I don’t even know why I fucking wrote that shit, you know?” Dean paused, before speaking more urgently, eyes boring into Cas’. “I saw you on TV and just… something about you, man. You made me nervous. And I was fucking jealous too. You’ve got a perfect triple axel, Cas. Fucking _perfect_. Just… watching you skate, man… it’s somethin’ else.”

“Does my sexuality bother you?” Cas asked suddenly, staring back at Dean and catching him off-guard.

“What? No way.” Dean lied through his teeth. _Yes it fucking bothers me. Bothers me enough that I jerk it to the image of your mouth on my dick every morning, and imagine what it would feel like to kiss my come off your perfect lips..._ “Doesn’t bother me.”

“You’re lying.” Cas was staring at him intently now.

Dean stammered for a moment, eyes darting between Cas’ freakishly blue eyes and sinfully full lips. He was too close. Cas was _way_ too close, and Dean’s heart was hammering a hole in his chest. Cas shifted slightly so they were facing each other, and Dean now found it impossible to tear his gaze away from Cas’ lips. They were _right there_ ; full and pink, and slightly chapped… Dean was overcome by the strongest urge to reach out with his tongue and soothe the cracked skin with gentle kisses. Cas inched closer; close enough that Dean could see the lightest of stubble on Cas’ jaw, and the perfect bow of his top lip.

“My sexuality bothers you.” Cas whispered, breath hot over Dean’s lips.

Dean sucked in a shuddering breath. “No. It doesn’t.”

Cas’ lips were on his before Dean even knew what was happening. He tensed, completely in shock because _Cas was kissing him._ Cas. _Kissing_ him. Fuck.

But he didn’t have a fighting chance. Cas’ lips were _incredible_ against his, slotting against his own _perfectly_ , so much smoother than they looked, and he relaxed into the kiss, eyes falling shut and lips parting slightly in a quiet gasp. Cas apparently took that as a good sign because he pushed his lips harder against Dean’s, tongue darting out to drag across his bottom lip. Dean brought his hands up to cradle Cas’ cheeks, completely helpless and _desperate_ for more, immediately opening his mouth to tangle their tongues together. God he felt like he fucking needed to feel _all_ of Cas, like kissing just wasn’t _close_ enough, and his body _begged_ for more. He pulled him closer. Cas groaned into Dean’s mouth and pushed forward, tangling one hand in Dean’s hair. Dean moaned, eyes clenched tightly shut as he let Cas take control of the kiss. _God it felt so fucking good._ Cas was a fantastic kisser, fierce and passionate, one hand tight on Dean’s shoulder while the other kept a firm grip in his hair. And Cas explored Dean’s mouth with his tongue like he belonged there… like he _owned_ him. Dean gasped at the thought, moaning as all the blood in his brain rushed south. It was when Cas moved to straddle him that all rational thought came flooding back. He pushed Cas away, even though his entire body was thrumming, still _screaming_ for more.

“I can’t do this.” Dean whispered, breathless and panting as his mind struggled to regain some form of control over his body, not meeting Cas’ eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Dean stood, his entire body tense and shaking, and walked away. He couldn’t bear to look at Cas, and his lips still tingled with the burning remnants of what was probably the best kiss he’d ever had. Dean’s eyes stung with confused tears that welled up in the corners of his eyes and he collapsed in the stairwell, burying his face in his hands. His head was spinning. Jacking off to the guy was one thing, but now… _fuck._

“ _I’m not…_ ” He murmured into his hands incoherently between shuddering breaths. “ _Fuck_. Fuck _. I am so fucked._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cantilever: An element in which the knees are bent and the back is bent backwards, parallel to the ice. The element can be performed with the hands on the ice or with them extended in the air.
> 
> If you are curious about more skating terminology go [here](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glossary_of_figure_skating_terms).
> 
> Please leave me a comment! I was a little nervous about this chapter, thus the delay, and I'd love to hear your thoughts on Dean and what he's experiencing.


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